Wish I could go back and change these years
by pinkskyline
Summary: Canon until "The song remains the same" and then goes right off the rails. What if Michael hadn't intervened to stop Uriel and Anna from killing John? John dies and Sam ceases to exist, but his memory persists. Dean and Cas carry on hunting in 1978, afraid of what would happen if they returned to an altered present. At least Dean has Cas, 70s rock and muscle cars to comfort him.
1. Chapter 1

Warnings: Major character death, ghosts, light swearing, frank mentions of sex (no smut), Destiel…

I do not own Supernatural or any characters therein. And the title of the story is from a Black Sabbeth song, "Changes"

* * *

Dean saw his father fly through the air and through a window with enough force to kill him, and then Uriel advanced on him.

Cas appeared, and though he was so weak he could hardly stand, he performed a spell that made both Anna and Uriel stagger, then promptly passed out.

"Stop," Anna said to Uriel. "There's no point in killing them. They'll only exist for a few moments more. Their father is dead. And Castiel will have to live with choosing the wrong side."

"Don't you ever just do things for the fun of it?" Uriel asked her.

"Leave," she commanded, and Uriel disappeared.

"I'm sorry. I wish it didn't have to be this way," she said. Then she disappeared. Dean hoped he never saw the bitch again.

Dean looked at Sam in disbelief. "Dad's dead? That means…"

"Dean, she said we had a minute. Just…Mom, Dean…no demon deals, okay? Just let me fade away. I know you have to lose me and you have to lose Dad, but think about the big picture. Remember what you said, Dean. There's a big difference between dying and never being born at all," Sam said.

"This isn't fair," Dean said. "I didn't mean it if it meant you died and I lived…"

His vision was fogged with tears and he brushed them aside impatiently, knowing this could be the last moment he'd ever see Sam. He'd never even have a picture…would he even remember his brother a few moments from now?

"Please Mom, promise me you won't make any deals to bring John back. You'll have Dean to remember him by; you'll have your normal life. If you make a deal you won't live for long and you'll burn in hell," Sam said harshly. "Ask Dean what that's like if you think you can bear it."

Dean looked at Mary. She was sitting awkwardly on the floor, her body wracked with tears for her husband. "I promise," she whispered.

Sam looked at Dean, a kind of rueful smile on his face. "We did it. We really stopped the apocalypse. I mean, it was kind of an accident, but we still did it. Promise me you won't start it up again just for me."

"I love you Sammy. I won't forget you, but I won't try to change this or bring you back. I promise," Dean said.

"You never let me down, Dean. Remember that," Sam said. They hugged, and then Sam just…faded…

…the memory of Sam Winchester never faded, though, as Dean had worried it might. Dean was grateful he had his memories, although even he knew it would have been easier if he had been able to forget.

Dean went to Cas and saw he was breathing shallowly and had blood dripping from his nose, mouth and ears. It must have been some bad mojo he had worked to stagger the two of them.

Dean took Cas to the hotel, and then stayed with his mom as long as he could bear it. He made sure one of her friends was there to take care of her, and returned to the hotel.

When he opened the door, Dean saw Cas sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall. Somehow Dean knew that Cas was aware of everything that had happened while he was unconscious.

He wanted to run up to the angel and demand that he set this right. He wanted to go back on his word and _make_ Sam be alive again. He wanted to find the nearest crossroads. But he knew what Sammy wanted, so he only leaned against the wall and sighed, looking at his friend.

"I told you not to come here," Cas growled.

For a moment Dean thought he was angry about Dean walking into the hotel room, then he realized Cas was referring to when he told Dean it was too dangerous for them all to go back in time. Sam's fate was on Dean, and he knew that. He didn't need a self-righteous angel pouring salt in his wounds.

"You think you could lay off a little? My brother just ceased to exist," Dean said softly.

"Dean, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what happened to Sam. He was my friend, and I never wanted this for him," Cas said.

"I know. I don't—I don't want to talk about it. Think about it. I just—what now? I mean, can we go back? Will I fade away once I'm born or something? How can two different versions of me exist at the same time?"

"I don't think…I think you can stay here and live out your life, starting now. I think if I found an angel to take us back to our time and the two divergent timelines come together, you would simply fade into yourself."

"Are you that far gone? You couldn't take us back yourself?" Dean asked.

"I don't think so," Cas said.

"If I forgot Sam, he would really be gone," Dean said softly.

"I would remember him," Cas said. "But you would not. All of your memories would be erased. Your life as a hunter, being raised by your father…none of these things would be, anymore. You would be the you you would have become if your mother raised you. You would not remember hell. You would not remember me."

Dean was surprised to find this tempting. Forgetting hell…knowing a mother's love for his whole life…But he couldn't just forget about his brother. And he couldn't just throw away who he was for the chance to hear his mom sing him "hey Jude" a few more times. He'd always thought he'd do anything to know what it was like to be raised by his mother, but now he knew what he wasn't willing to give up. Sammy. The person Dean was because of his brother. He would never be a hunter. He wouldn't even have Cas or Bobby, because he'd never have any reason to meet them. He supposed he'd never see Bobby again, and if he did, they'd never mean the same things to each other. Bobby'd never be like a father to him; hell, he might even be older than Bobby, now.

"But why don't I disappear now, like Sam did?" Dean asked.

"There really isn't a butterfly effect," Cas said obscurely. "Changing one thing in the past won't alter the future immeasurably. The fates can adjust to altered circumstance. If all this had happened when Sam was born or conceived, he'd be here too. You can exist in two timelines, even at the same time, but you can't rejoin your own timeline without one being destroyed, and you can't exist if you were never born."

Dean tried to make sense of that convoluted logic, than gave up. If Cas said he wouldn't disappear, he guessed he wouldn't.

"We should stay here," Dean whispered.

"In this hotel room?" Cas asked.

Dean snorted with abrupt and involuntary laughter at Cas's literalness. "In this time. I mean—I should stay here. You—you have no reason to stay with me, I know. Like Sammy said before he faded away, we did it. We stopped the apocalypse. I suppose you can go back to heaven or whatever."

"Dean, I'm still cut off from heaven. There is no other version of me. I'm…almost human. I don't want to be a burden, but I was hoping you could teach me how to be human," Cas said.

The relief Dean felt at this almost knocked his knees and he was grateful he was leaning against the wall. He'd never been alone, not really. He'd always had Sam or Dad to look out for, take care of…If Cas would let him take care of him, maybe he'd get through this. Maybe he'd be able to find a way.

"Do you want…should we be hunters?" Dean asked, almost timidly.

"I'm game, if that's what you want to do," Cas said, his voice sounding as awkward as it ever did when he tried to use human vernacular.

"Okay," Dean said shakily. "Okay. I guess we just have to bury my father, and then we can hit the road."

"Dean, I can wipe your mother's memories, so she doesn't know about all that other stuff. I can make her think John died in a freak accident," Cas said.

"I wish that was an option, but I bet she'd make a deal to get him back, if she didn't know it could start the apocalypse," Dean said.

"You're really doing it. I never thought…I wouldn't have thought you were capable," Cas said, tilting his head and staring at Dean as though he were an particularly interesting insect.

Dean didn't ask what Cas meant. He only nodded. "I'm going to do it. I'm going to let Sam go. I think I can…if you'll help me."

Cas nodded, then rose from his seat on the bed and patted Dean on the back awkwardly. "I will help in any way that I can."

Dean nodded, and suddenly he was close to tears again. He turned away and walked over to the other bed, lying down abruptly. "I'll see you in the morning," he said.

And he was surprised that he fell asleep right away.

* * *

Two weeks later they were on the road, in the impala.

Both mother and son had tried to give the car to the other, both saying that they couldn't stand the memories. In the end Dean had bought the car from her, promising to pay her when he found out how to scam the system 70s style.

Dean looked over at Cas, sitting up too straight in the passenger's seat. "I'll have to teach you to drive. Or do you already know how?"

"Jimmy knew how. I can access the remnants of his knowledge," Cas said.

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes, I can drive."

"Speaking of Jimmy…is he in there with you?" Dean asked.

"I haven't felt him since he offered to take his daughter's place. I suspect his soul went to heaven then, but the body still remains…his. It still remembers his fondness for burgers and how to walk and talk and drive," Cas said.

"Boy, you really know how to cut the human experience down to the essentials," Dean joked.

"They were just examples, Dean. I know the human is a complex animal," Cas said.

"So, you think this hotel is haunted?" Dean asked, changing the subject.

"Isn't that why we're going?" Cas asked.

"Are we playing questions?"

"What's questions?"

Dean laughed. Cas smiled in a surprised way at Dean's laughter, and Dean guessed he hadn't laughed in a while.

"Questions is where you only speak in questions for as long as you can while still making sense. The first person to use a statement loses. I was only—yeah—we think the hotel is haunted, that's why we're going. Sometimes people just talk for the sake of talking. To—avoid silence, or something. I was stating the obvious."

"So if we _were_ playing questions, I would have won," Cas asserted.

Dean looked over at Cas, surprised to be on the edge of laughter again. "Yeah. You won this round," he said.

When they arrived in the hotel and checked in, they bought a local paper at the counter. Dean was finding hunting difficult now that he couldn't use the internet to do much of his research—but luckily papers were everywhere. They'd have to hit the library and look at the microfiche tomorrow as soon and they found out more about the ghost. Dean supposed he should have asked the clerk at the desk about the ghost, but he was dead on his feet.

In the morning he and Cas went down to the dinner attached to the hotel and had breakfast. Dean broke out his sunniest, flirtiest smile, and soon had the whole story of the hotel from a middle aged waitress with a passion for local history.

It was almost too easy getting back into the swing of things.

Serena Cole had killed herself in the hotel. She wasn't the only tragic death, but she was one of the only women, and the word was the guests who had died had seen a beautiful, pale woman the night before they died. They looked her up in the paper, found her obit and where she was buried.

Experience had taught Dean to cover all his bases, though, so he looked up the other two women who had been involved in tragedies at the hotel. Jenny Plainer had been with her husband the night he killed a man in the now-closed bar, and had died in a car accident when her husband lost control as he tried to flee the scene. Dean didn't know how she would still be tied to the hotel, but he made note that she was cremated. The other woman, Robin Springer, had choked in the diner and died. It didn't seem like the kind of incident to kill tourists over, but Dean knew that sometimes things weren't what they seemed so he wrote down where she was planted, too.

They headed back to the hotel with burgers that evening.

When they sat at the tiny table in the hotel together and ate, Dean felt an immense gratitude for his friend. He felt like he was stuck treading water, and every second of the day grief for Sam and his Dad threatened to pull him under, but teaching Cas the ropes of being a hunter and being a man was keeping his head above water.

"Look, I'm going to go down to the hardware store and get a shovel. Mary gave us guns and rock salt, but I just remembered we don't have a shovel," Dean said.

"Hard to dig graves without one," Cas said mildly.

"Yeah," Dean said.

When Dean got back it was dark. The hardware store had been five minutes from closing, and the proprietor had made a couple of jokes about what he needed a shovel for at this time of night that would have been funnier if they didn't come so close to the truth.

When he came back to the hotel room, Cas was gone. He'd left a note saying he was out for a walk.

"Hey man, you ready to dig your first grave?" Dean asked when Cas returned.

"Dean, I think we have a problem," Cas said.

"What is it?"

"I saw the ghost. It was Jenny Plainer," Cas said.

"Jenny Plainer was cremated," Dean said faintly.

"We don't need the shovel after all," Cas murmured.

Dean nodded. He didn't want to say what he was thinking. He didn't want to ask if Cas was human enough to get killed by a ghost, and he suspected that Cas didn't know either.

Because everyone who'd been killed at the hotel had seen Jenny Plainer the night before they'd died, and they had no idea what remains could possibly link Jenny to the hotel.

"We have to figure this out, fast," Dean said.

**Author's Note: I know most people would argue that Jimmy's soul is still in Cas, but I just find that so creepy, especially in Destiel stories…so in my world Jimmy's soul is gone to heaven. Also, I understand that my version of time travel makes no sense. Oh well. Time travel never makes sense anyway.**


	2. Chapter 2

"The bar is the key," Dean said.

"You should get some sleep, Dean," Cas said.

"I'm not going to sleep. You could die. Hell, what if this was your last night on earth, Cas? What would you want to do with it?"

Cas gave Dean a strange look and Dean was reminded awkwardly of when they had gone to a brothel to try and get Cas laid before hunting Raphael. "I'm not certain a ghost can kill me. Maybe this is a good test," he finally said.

"I'm not going to wait and see if a ghost can kill you, Cas. That is not happening. Like I said before, the bar is the key. I'm going to go down to the lobby and see if the night clerk knows anyone who used to work there. All this only happened in the late 60s. There's got to be someone in town who still remembers what happened."

The night clerk had a friend who'd been the bartender that night. Dean got an address, and he reluctantly returned to the hotel room, knowing he couldn't barge into the guy's house at eleven at night.

Cas was lying in the bed nearest the door with his eyes closed when Dean came in the room. Dean knew he wasn't sleeping. He slept rarely, and his breathing was distinctive when he did. Dean suspected Cas didn't want to speak to him, and dimly he wondered why. Maybe the angel was afraid, although Dean couldn't really fathom such a thing.

Without knowing why, he sat down on Cas's bed and put a hand on his shoulder. "I've got a lead. It's the bartender who was there the night Jenny Plainer's husband killed that guy and then died in the crash. We can go see him first thing in the morning."

"You've got it all figured out, have you?" Cas asked.

There was something in his voice that Dean didn't want to analyze. He could tell Cas was annoyed with him for some reason, and a part of him knew and didn't want to acknowledge it was because his overprotective act had to be irritating for someone who used to be practically all powerful. He couldn't help being protective—he couldn't bear the thought of losing Cas. He rubbed Cas's shoulder absently. "I know you don't see this as a threat. You're probably right and it can't kill you. I just can't take the chance, alright?"

Cas turned his head so he was looking at Dean. "Okay. I'll try not to die, if that makes you feel any better."

"Thanks," Dean said, wryly. He got up and went to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

The next morning they went to see the bartender. He lived in a nice house in a newly built suburb. Dean and Cas were both wearing suits, and had fake FBI credentials they had brought with them when they came from the future, so they were hoping Murphy didn't want to look at them too closely. The Campbell's guy, who Mary had set them up with, still hadn't gotten Dean and Cas any IDs. Everything seemed to take a hell of a lot longer in the seventies, but cover stories didn't require an electronic paper trail, which was nice considering Sam had been the hacker. He wondered what he'd do when someone wanted to talk to a superior with no Bobby around to call; well, he'd find out soon enough.

"We're closing up some old case files, and the Plainer case wasn't properly documented. We just need to ask you a few questions," Dean said to Fred Murphy, a middle aged man who vaguely reminded Dean of his father at that age—an age his father would now never be.

"Paperwork is a bitch," Murphy said sympathetically, letting them in and asking them to sit on his sofa. He sat down across from them in a big plush chair. "Why does the FBI even have a file on that murder? I don't remember them investigating at the time. I wouldn't think it would be in their jurisdiction."

"There were some questions at the time about the involvement of a biker gang," Dean said vaguely.

Murphy nodded. "Makes sense."

"So can you tell us exactly what happened?" Dean asked.

"Weirdest night of my life," Murphy said. "Guy walks in—and I knew him, right? He was always pretty even tempered, but where Jenny was concerned, he got so jealous. He turned into a different person. Mabel—she was the barmaid working the night before—she told me that Jenny had been flirting with Tom Cross all night that night. Turns out Jenny went home and told Guy she was leaving him, and then checked into the hotel. He went and waited for her in the bar the next night. Somehow he'd gotten wind of the fact that she and Tom liked it there.

"So I see Guy fuming at the bar and I offer him a beer. He refuses, and I tell him that he can't just sit at the bar for free, so he orders a root beer. How do you like that? Knowing he's planning on killing someone, he doesn't even take a shot of whiskey to calm his nerves. Just root beer. And he was mad, I could tell, but I remember he lit my cigarette, and his hands didn't even shake. Course, he was a vet—he'd been to Korea.

"Anyway, finally Tom walks in, arm in arm with Jenny. She was a beautiful girl, and the way she looked at Tom—well, I could see how Guy could snap. He got up from the bar and did the craziest thing. He cut her finger off. And not just any finger, the one where her wedding ring should have been but wasn't."

Cas and Dean looked at each other. So this was how Jenny was tied to the hotel.

"Wow, that's awful. We didn't know about the finger. Did it stay at the scene?" Dean asked.

"How did you know? Yeah, he dropped it and later on the boss had me clean it up. I buried it under the rose bush after I found out she had died."

Dean looked at Cas and Cas nodded imperceptibly. He knew where the rosebush was. Dean fought the desire to get up and go salt and burn the finger. They had to stay in role for Murphy to finish his story.

"What happened next?" Cas asked.

Murphy paused thoughtfully. "I honestly think that Guy never intended to kill Tom—but Tom took exception to Guy taking Jenny's finger, as well he might, and he pushed him back. Guy went crazy, and there was a struggle. They both got bloodied, and then Tom went down. I still remember the way he looked, splayed on the carpet…Jenny screaming…but she went with him when he pulled her into his car. They went off a cliff. Folks said he was going too fast around the curve, trying to get away, but I don't think he even touched the brakes. He wanted to die after what he'd done and he wanted to take her with him."

"Thank you," Dean said. "You've been incredibly helpful."

They got back to the hotel around noon and salted and burned the finger. The bar had been destroyed in a controlled burn several years before, but the rose bush still grew near where the foundation could still be faintly seen.

Dean sighed in relief. Cas was safe.

They decided to stay the night because check out time was ten a.m. and they were already on the hook for another night. Dean wondered if there was a bar nearby where they could celebrate that night, but Cas didn't seem interested in drinking.

"Come on Cas, did you learn nothing from that story? Guy was sober, and it made him go crazy and kill someone. The same thing could happen to me. All work and no play makes Dean a dull boy! You gotta come with me," Dean said.

"I don't understand that reference," Cas said. "I don't want to go to a bar tonight, but if you get a bottle, I'll have some drinks with you."

"Not feeling sociable?"

"I just don't know what it's like to drink in this state. I want to experiment in private," Cas said.

Dean almost made a double entendre about how he'd like to "experiment in private" with Cas, but then figured it would probably be lost on him and just left to get the bottle.

When he returned, he found Cas sitting calming on the floor in the bathroom in a circle of salt.

"What the hell?" Dean asked.

"Apparently Jenny was not the one killing men," Cas said.

"Did he hurt you?" Dean asked fiercely.

"Just this," Cas said, holding up a bandaged hand. "I think you were right—I think he might be able to kill me."

"Not while I'm around," Dean growled. "So it has to be Tom or Guy. I mean, it should be, because Jenny appeared to you first."

"Ghosts are remnants. What if they act out the drama—Jenny looks at another man, and then Guy kills the man in a jealous rage," Cas said.

"Do you remember what Murphy said? He said something about both of the men losing blood and Tom lying on a carpet. What if it's the carpet? What if it's still somewhere on the grounds?" Dean asked.

The ghost appeared and Cas threw the iron rod he was holding at Dean, who swung through him, dissipating him. He reappeared—bloody and angry—and threw a chair at the window, shattering it. Ghosts always did that to disperse the salt, but Cas had set up his salt ring in the bathroom seemed safe from the breeze, for now.

"Go find it Dean. I'll be fine," Cas said, reaching for the iron rod. Dean handed it over and ran to the hotel clerk.

"Tell me you have things from the bar in storage somewhere on the grounds," he said.

"Just in the shed out back," the man said before it occurred to him that the things from the bar were none of Dean's business. Dean took off at a run, praying for Cas to be alright.

The shed was locked, and Dean took a shovel that was standing nearby and pried the lock ring off. He flicked on the light and found the pile of rugs right away. "Give me a break!" he said aloud, looking at the five rolled up rugs.

He'd only been in the 70s for a few weeks and didn't want to go on the run if he didn't have to, but he was dangerously close to just pouring gas on the whole pile of rugs. Fortunately the first one he opened had a giant blood stain on it.

"Why the hell would the boss keep that?" the clerk asked, peeking in behind him.

"Help me get this out of here so I can burn it," Dean said.

"Why?" the clerk asked, but he gamely took an end and they laid the carpet on the grass.

"I don't know—cause it's creepy and morbid to keep it?" Dean said. He poured gas on the rug and lit it on fire. "Thanks man. I'll be checking out bright and early tomorrow," he said as he ran back to the hotel.

He found Cas bloodied but conscious on the bed. "I could use that drink now," Cas said.

"Did he—he burned, right?" Dean asked.

"You got him," Cas said.

"We should go to a Zeppelin concert to celebrate," Dean smirked.

* * *

They hunted together for months, Cas started to understand being human, and even some of Dean's references, and Dean tried to forget Sam. After a while Dean realized he didn't want to forget Sam, and started bringing him up more and more.

"Maybe not existing at all was better for Sam. After all, he was very troubled," Cas said. His voice was soft across the space between them in the hotel room, and the darkness somehow made the conversation less real; made Sam something that could be talked about, for once.

"Nothing he couldn't have gotten over, if he'd had the chance," Dean mumbled.

"You don't know that. Maybe the fates had placed even more difficult obstacles in his path. Perhaps what happened to him was a strange sort of kindness," Cas said.

"You're a pretty good liar," Dean remarked.

"Nearly everything I learned about being a human I learned from you. If you don't like me lying, you shouldn't have taught me how," Cas said.

It took a moment for that to sink in. Cas hadn't denied that his comforting words had been a lie. Sam wasn't in a better place; he wasn't at peace. He didn't exist. Dean remembered a time when he had thought that was better than dying. He didn't think that anymore.

"You can take comfort from the fact that Sam lives on in your memories," Cas continued.

Dean winced at the clichéd sentiment. "I know I never sent you any greeting cards. Where are you picking up this schmaltz?"

"Clichés are only clichés because they're what humans believe, deep down inside. And we might hunt demons and monsters, but we've had enough chick flick moments that you've taught me a lot about what exactly it is that humans feel," Cas said.

Hearing his own expressions on Cas's lips felt—wrong, somehow—liked he'd let the man too far in. Like Cas knew him too well. Hell, the man had been in his dreams like Freddy freaken Kruger, and he was worried about him picking up his verbal ticks? Maybe it was just because the only person who'd ever known him that well was Sam—or maybe it was because they were starting to veer dangerously close to couple territory.

Couple territory was not a country that Dean wanted to explore with Cas.

Dean wasn't a prude, but he didn't exactly swing that way, either. Which is not to say he'd never let a guy give him head if there was no hot chicks around and he was drunk or bored enough. And if, once or twice, just for the hell of it, he'd let it go farther than that, well, no one really needed to know about it. He wouldn't go so far as to say he was bisexual, but people were people, and sometimes on the road, if he was lonely, having a person touch him just to make him feel good made all the difference. If this generosity came from a man instead of a woman it didn't change anything at all.

Nothing that mattered, anyway. And he knew, without having to even try it, that it wouldn't matter between he and Cas. After all, if you really wanted to be technical about it, Cas wasn't even a man. He wasn't even a human, which should be the more worrisome problem. But it didn't seem to be a problem for Dean. He thought they might have a chance, despite their differences.

Maybe Cas was right about the clichés and the chick flick moments.

Anyway, he didn't want to sour the one thing he had in this world. Even if he and Cas were starting to act like a married couple that didn't mean he should take it a step further and kiss the guy. He wasn't even sure Cas swung_ any_ way—he'd never seen him look at any woman or man in any kind of sexual appreciation. He'd seen Cas sleep and the man never seemed to wake up with morning wood or have sexual dreams. Maybe in spite of the fact that he had male genitalia and seemed generally indistinguishable from a human male (his ability to fly from place to place notwithstanding), he really didn't have human desires.

Dean hoped he didn't. Cas had become such an important person in his life, and he didn't want to ruin it. He knew himself enough to know that if he tried to be a partner in every way to Cas, he would ruin it soon enough. Convincing himself that Cas didn't want his advances was the only thing stopping him from making them.

It was so tempting…but dangerous, too. Dean had never been smart with his emotions. When he was very young he'd had a box of things—mementos, baseball cards, family photos—a child's treasures. He'd put his heart and soul into that box, telling himself that no matter where they went or what lies he had to tell the kids at school, he would always know who he really was because he would always have that shoe box to remind him. Of course the box had gone missing in one of the countless Winchester moves, and Dean had been quietly, privately devastated, feeling like he'd lost who he was, not a box of scattered papers and memories.

The way he loved people always reminded him of that box. He stuffed them full of everything that was him, as if loving them would prove he was real, worth it…someone who mattered. And then when they died or left him or, in the memorable case of Cassie Robinson, told him he was crazy, he felt like he had nothing left. He gave too much to the people he loved, and after he lost Sam, at first it had felt like there was nothing left of him.

Cas wasn't just a person Dean loved. He was the only person who really knew who Dean was—and he was the only other person guarding the memory of Sam. Dean thought maybe he should guard himself better, not make the same mistakes he'd made in the past…maybe he and Cas should try to extend their circle of friends.

There had to be other hunters out there, and maybe there was some woman out there who would understand his lifestyle and love him anyway. That way if something went wrong in his love life, he'd still have Cas. Because after losing Sam and Bobby to the vagaries of time travel, he didn't know what he'd do without Cas. He didn't know how he'd stay human, or sane.

So Dean grunted in a noncommittal way—this conversation was dangerous. As much as he wanted, _needed_ to talk about Sam, he couldn't let Cas be his everything. A few moments later when Cas called his name softly across the darkness, Dean pretended to be asleep, knowing full well he wasn't fooling his friend.

But Cas let him get away with it like he always did, and soon they both slept.

"Mount up," Dean told Cas the next morning.

"Where are we going?" Cas asked.

"I realized last night it could all happen again. Azazel—the apocalypse. There were other children. We have to find the yellow-eyed demon, Cas, and we have to kill him again."

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading! Please review :) Also, I was just reading the wiki about Bobby and I guess he didn't start being a hunter until the early 90s which probably does make Dean older than him now. Anyone know when his wife got possessed? **


	3. Chapter 3

"I don't like this," Cas said.

"Oh come on, Cas! We have to do these things. We can't hunt_ and_ have honest jobs," Dean said.

"Well, I did what you told me to do before. We paid your mom for the impala and opened bank accounts with the money you got from impersonating a security guard taking bank deposits from a "faulty" cash drop box. We opened bank accounts in our fake identities and wrote cheques on our overdraft and never paid them back. We got credit cards on our fake identities and never paid the bills. I was with you, that far. But _this_ seems so wrong," Cas said.

"She won't miss it," Dean muttered. A woman in front of him in line at a diner had left her credit card in plain sight on the counter, and Dean had swiped in right in front of Cas. Cas was now sitting beside Dean in the impala and looking back furtively every few seconds, as if he thought the FBI was on the case already. Dean didn't have the heart to tell him that in terms of laws, the fraud they had already perpetrated together was actually much worse than snagging a credit card a woman left lying around. The guilt was probably just because Cas had actually seen the woman's face so the crime seemed more real, Dean suspected.

"It's stealing money from an old lady," Cas said.

"She wasn't old. She was fifty if she was a day. And considering your age, you shouldn't be calling anyone old."

"Did you _have_ to pick it up?"

"It was just sitting there! Listen, I can find a crooked jewellery store or some other place that sells big ticket items. I use the credit card to buy some things, but leave the inventory with them and take cash instead. The lady with the credit card gets a bill and realizes she lost her card, and refuses to pay it. The bank pays the bill with insurance and everyone's happy. Then I take the money and invest it under a "safe" identity that I never use for anything illegal. I'm going to invest in IBM, Apple, whatever I can think of that's going to take off. Listen, when we get our time travel investments all set up and they start to pay up, we can just live off of the interest. We won't have to steal at all," Dean said.

"Are you sure you _want_ to stop stealing?" Cas asked.

Dean rolled his eyes. "I don't _like_ doing it. It's not like I'm a criminal mastermind or anything. Actually if I hadn't seen _Catch Me if you Can_ I wouldn't even know how to pull low-tech scams like these. I mean, when I was a kid I'm sure dad did stuff like this, but he never taught me how to pull cons until the digital age."

"Fine. What should I do while you're doing all this?" Cas asked.

"I don't know. We've been hunting pretty steady since…I'll have to go to a big city for all this. I suppose you could take a holiday somewhere…I could drop you at the beach or something…"

Cas looked at Dean thoughtfully. "We have been hunting pretty steady, haven't we? I think I'll stay with you. I don't know how useful I'll be in the scam, but I can keep an eye on you."

"Keep an eye on me?" Dean asked. He tried to look offended, but didn't think he was pulling it off. He probably would have hooked up with some random chick if he and Cas had separated temporarily, and somehow these days that only made him feel lonelier than ever. Cas's constant companionship was the only thing keeping him from dwelling on what happened with Sam…what he'd_ let_ happen to Sam. It meant a lot that Cas wanted to stick with him even when he was doing something that Cas didn't really approve of.

"Someone has to," Cas said.

They got a decent room with a kitchenette in a clean place where the owner had made some interesting decorating choices. Cas took some money from Dean to buy some things. He had been experimenting with cooking, as much as he could in a kitchenette, at any rate.

When Dean returned to the hotel he had a stack of cash that would have been impressive in his time and in the 70s would certainly be enough to make some hefty investments. Dean wished he knew more about finances, but he figured bankers were just con artists with fancy suits, so how different would they really be to him, anyway?

He opened the door to the room and found that Cas had made some nameless Italian chicken dish with pasta, that while being unlike anything else he'd ever tasted, didn't taste bad.

"Thanks for cooking. It's a nice break from the diner food," Dean said.

"You love diner food," Cas said.

"The food, yeah, but, sometimes it's nice to have a meal in private, you know? To not have to smile and act normal all the time just because a stranger is serving you dinner."

"Dean, I've been thinking about what you said this morning," Cas said.

"What did I say this morning?"

"You said we've been hunting steady since Sam died," Cas said.

Dean felt the half-smile fall from his face and his expression harden. "I'm pretty sure I never said that Sam died because he didn't die," Dean said.

"I know. I know he didn't die. But maybe it's better if we act like he did. Talk like he did. Maybe we should have a hunter's funeral in his honour. It's not like he's coming back," Cas said.

"You don't have to tell me that. If there's one thing I know, it's that my brother isn't coming back," Dean said. He was trying to remember that Cas didn't always know the effect of his words—he was still inhuman, at times. He didn't mean to sound cold. But Dean felt the anger creeping into his voice.

"Dean, mourning is a process. You can't just 'get over' what happened to Sam by hunting night and day and refusing to think about it," Cas said.

"Watch me!" Dean snapped. He rose from his chair abruptly, planning on going out.

"Dean, please, I'm trying to help you," Cas said.

"You really think you know what I need? You barely even know what it's like to have feelings. And how do I get over the fact that I went back in time and let my father get killed so that my brother was never born? What do I do with that? Tell me," Dean said. He could see that his comment about Cas not knowing what it was like to have feelings hurt Cas, but he refused to feel bad.

"You did what you had to do, Dean. It wasn't your fault."

"Of course it was my fault!" Dean said. He ran his fingers through his hair. He wished he could take back everything he'd said and just go out for a drink. He didn't want to talk about any of this. Didn't want to think about it. "You warned me not to come here."

"What happened here was never set in stone. Anything could have happened. And what happened to Sam—it happened because Sam wanted it to be that way. He wanted to make a sacrifice to save everyone. He wanted you to let him," Cas said.

Dean felt tears in his eyes. "And God help me, I did let him. How much of me letting him disappear himself was because I didn't want to play my part? How much of it was all about not wanting to do what the angels said? I let him make a sacrifice so I wouldn't have to."

"No Dean. You let him make his own choice. He chose to save you, and the world," Cas said.

Cas got up from his seat and walked over to where Dean was leaning on the hotel room's desk. He leaned against it beside Dean and put a hand on Dean's arm. Dean didn't want to admit it, but that single touch was the most reassuring thing he'd felt in weeks.

"Dean, listen to me. I was serious about the funeral. I know you think I'm like some alien from outer space who doesn't understand human emotion, but I've been watching humanity for a long time. Mourning rituals are important. They have been in almost every civilization since the beginning of time. They help you accept your loss, make peace with your issues about the person and move on," Cas said.

"I don't know if I can ever move on from this. I mean, I let my Dad and my brother die," Dean said.

"Dean, Sam told me once about how you felt after you found out that your father had made a deal and was in hell to save you. Well, that never happened. He's in heaven, so in a way by letting him die _you saved him_. But think about the deal for a minute. Remember how you felt when you realized your father had sacrificed himself to save you? Now imagine how Sam would have felt if you'd done something else to save him—if you'd bargained the whole world against your little brother. He never could have carried that weight. He'd never have forgiven you. He probably wouldn't even be able to look at you. You did the right thing that day. I'm sure of it," Cas said.

Dean looked at Cas through his tears, and for the first time, he sort of believed what Cas was saying. "I don't think I'll ever get over this Cas. I don't think I'll ever really forgive myself."

"Give it time," Cas said. He hesitated for a moment and then put his arm around Dean's shoulder. "For now just know that I believe you did the right thing, and that Sam was a hero."

Dean shuddered at Cas's words and turned towards him. He was relieved when Cas put his arms around him and the arm draped awkwardly around his shoulders became half of a tight embrace. Dean found his arms snaking around Cas's waist and they stayed that way for a long time.

Later they had a couple of drinks, sitting on their respective beds and watching mindless 70s television that Dean had already seen in reruns. It was depressing to think that he wouldn't see a new episode of a show he liked or a new movie until he was in his 60s. Maybe he should branch out and start watching foreign films and television.

Dean's mind was wandering a lot, but it kept on coming back to what Cas had said. Sam was a hero for what he had done. It was true. And if Azazel and Michael managed to find other meat suits to wear to the prom, his heroic act would be for nothing.

Rooting around in his pack, he found his Dad's journal. He had to go get the colt again, and then he could get started.

* * *

"How will we find Azazel?" Cas asked Dean that morning in the impala.

"I still have my dad's journal. He tracked old yellow-eyes for years. I also know the names of his "special children" and their birthdays," Dean said.

"So you think we should intercept him when he is trying to feed his blood to one of the special children?"

Dean glanced at Cas. "No, Cas, there's no we in this. I'm going after him alone."

"Dean, you can't!" Cas said. "It's not like I'm as weak as I was when we first started hunting together. I'm twice as strong as you and I was actually designed by God for combat, especially against demons. Not letting me go with you…it doesn't make any sense. It makes me think you don't want to walk away from this fight."

"Cas, that's not what this is all about. It's more…I've gone up against Azazel several times. The times when I was unsuccessful, it was because he used the people I loved against me. I can't take the risk that he could hurt you and use my distraction to get away again," Dean said.

"But Dean, the time you killed Azazel, you did it because you had the help of many people, including your father's ghost. You're telling me that you can go up against this demon alone now?"

"I've changed a lot since then. I've been to hell. I've stood up to angels, Gods…I just don't find him as scary as I used to," Dean said.

"You should find him scary! Dean, why do we have to do this now? We know we have time. We know when the contest at Cold Oak happens. We won't have to worry about this until years from now. There's no rush," Cas said.

"So we should wait until we're old and slow, or until we've convinced ourselves that the apocalypse could never happen again? Or until we have lives…friends…people we care about and responsibilities that we don't want to leave? This is the perfect time. If we don't do it now, we'll never do it," Dean said.

"We. You're back to saying "we" again. Does that mean you've come to your senses?"

"I just don't want to see you in danger like that," Dean muttered.

"I'm not a child. I'm not your little brother that you have to look out for. I'm older and more powerful than you can imagine. My powers have come back a lot more than I've let on," Cas said.

Dean glanced over at Cas in annoyance. He couldn't keep having such a serious conversation while driving. At best he'd get them lost, and at worst he'd drive right into the ditch. He waited until he saw a wide shoulder and pulled over.

"Why wouldn't you tell me that you've gotten your powers back?" he asked. As always, his tone ended up a lot more harsh than he had intended.

Cas avoided his eyes, and then looked out the window. "I suppose I was enjoying you…taking care of me. Making sure I was okay. I didn't want you to know I didn't need any help. But understand me, Dean, I'm still cut off from heaven. There are still many miracles that are beyond me."

"You hate when I take care of you. It annoys the shit out of you. You thought I needed it. You thought I'd break if I didn't have someone to look after," Dean murmured.

"I enjoyed knowing that I was important to you," Cas said.

"Shit, Cas. You're the only thing in the world that matters to me. If it wasn't for you…you don't have to pretend to be something you're not."

"Will you let me help you kill Azazel?" Cas asked.

Dean sat for several minutes without answering. He didn't know what he'd do without Cas. He would be completely alone. What would he do, go live with his mom and help her raise himself? No, he knew exactly what he'd do. He'd take stupid risks until he died, just like every other hunter who loses the will to fight, and survive. Could he take the risk of bringing Cas with him?

"We'll talk about this later," Dean said. For a long time Cas didn't say a word, and they sat silently in the unmoving car.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean was looking through his father's journal when Cas came in. The room was a tacky mix of 50s and 60s décor. It made Dean smile, to think about the fact that the wallpaper always seemed to be several decades behind in cheap motels. He'd spent the 90s imagining what the rooms had looked like brand new in the 70s. Apparently they'd been 20 years out of date back then, too. Maybe they bought discount wallpaper years after the trend was over? At least this one didn't have a cowboy theme like the last one.

Cas put a take out bag down on the table and Dean noticed the smell of hamburgers coming from it. Cas came to sit on Dean's bed—too close to him, but Dean had stopped berating him for that. In fact briefly Dean considered running his hand up Cas's leg.

He resisted the urge.

Cas gestured to the journal. "How did your father have all this information about demon activity from before he was even a hunter?" he asked.

"I think he must have back tracked somehow…using newspapers or something…looking for events like the one that killed my mother," Dean said.

"Did you find one you can use to track him?"

"A couple of weeks from now there was a house fire like ours on a baby's six-month birthday. There were signs of demon activity around there," Dean said.

"I thought all the deals were ten years away from the deals with the mothers—leaving five years until they would come due," Cas said.

"I think he did a couple of trial runs. Tests, you know. I don't know. Maybe I'm wrong and he won't be there. But this looks like it could be Azazel's work," Dean said.

"Did the baby grow up to have special powers?"

"The kid was killed in the fire so didn't turn out to be one of Azazel's chosen. If we get there in time, maybe we can stop him feeding the kid his blood and even save the family," Dean said.

"We?"

Dean gave Cas a long look. "I don't want to take chances with you…but if you say you're up to fighting Azazel, I guess I got to let you."

"Just like if you want to go after Azazel even though you've already stopped the apocalypse, I have to let you. It's called free will, right? You taught me all about it," Cas said.

He smiled a slow, very human smile and Dean regretted ever trying to tell him what to do. Just because Dean felt vulnerable…alone…didn't mean Cas should be wrapped in bubble wrap and kept from harm. It wasn't the way it should be, between them. Hell, usually he'd thrown Cas to the wolves whenever he'd had to. Of course, back then he'd had Sammy and Bobby and a whole lifetime of casual acquaintances that were now thirty years away and wouldn't remember him when his timeline finally caught up with theirs.

They made plans. The first part of the plan was to get the colt. Dean had returned it to Daniel Elkin's so they could get it in the future—but he guessed since he wasn't going to grow up to be a hunter in this future it didn't matter anymore.

He wondered how Ruby had made those extra bullets—if it had been her witchy powers (and Dean was not touching witchcraft) or her demon powers—or knowing Ruby, it could have even been some secret help from Lilith. Briefly Dean considered going to the nearest crossroads and asking Crowley for more bullets, and then he rethought the idea and just decided not to miss the yellow-eyed bastard.

This time when he stole the colt from the safe he had help from an angel, and it went a lot better than the first time.

They made other plans.

Azazel might sense an angel—so they found a way to shield Cas's presence from supernatural detection. It was a complicated bit of warding, but on the chance that Azazel sensed Cas (they still weren't fully aware of all his powers), Dean felt it was necessary. They did their best to ward Dean so Azazel wouldn't sense him either, though it was harder to ward a human than an angel.

Dean wanted to have the family go away on a vacation, but Cas said that Azazel would follow them wherever they went. Their best bet was to sneak into the house just before Azazel did and kill him with the family home. And hopefully not get arrested for it.

So all they had to do was wait.

It was probably the most nerve-wracking wait of Dean's life—possibly because he only had Cas to commiserate with, and no one had patience like a being who'd been alive for millennia. He took everything so calmly.

One thing Dean did take into his own hands, so to speak, was Cas's virginity. He hadn't actually lost it in that brothel, apparently. So it fell to Dean to handle it. It was a bit awkward, at first, but they became lovers easier than they had become friends.

Of course, not many friendships start the way theirs had.

It was a consolation to Dean that if one of them died, they would know what it had been like to be with the other one. Sex didn't really change things, though, because the important part—the caring part—had been there for a while. Sex was just another level of intimacy, a way for the two of them to express what they meant to each other, and Dean didn't regret taking that step.

Cas, for his part, seemed pleased and a little bewildered at the development. Well, he seemed a bit bewildered by most things, didn't he? But the way he held on to Dean too tightly whenever they had to part let him know Cas felt the same way that he did. It was as much codependency and need as it was love, but it was love, too.

The day of Harriet Brownlee's six month birthday didn't dawn auspiciously. It was rainy and cold.

They pulled up to the house around noon. They had agreed that they should wait until the last possible minute to let the family in on what was going on, and only if necessary.

They'd scoped out the house the day before when the father had been at work and the mother had taken little Harriet shopping. There was a back door, and wonder of wonders, they didn't seem to lock their doors. It was a simpler time, Dean supposed. And if they locked the door tonight Dean could pick it or Cas could crush it with his superman strength.

The superman strength was kind of a comfort right now. Dean was a lot more nervous than he remembered being the last time.

But he was angrier, too.

Yellow-eyes might not have killed his mother in this time-line, but his machinations were indirectly responsible for the deaths of both John and Sam. And when he thought about all the people who died because of the apocalypse…it motivated him all the more.

The devil would stay in his cage forever if Dean had his way.

They both picked at dinner; even the threat that it could be their last meal did nothing for their appetite.

"Do you think we can do it?" Dean asked Cas. It was the first time he'd ever asked. He hadn't wanted to know Cas's answer.

"You've done it before," Cas said.

"You know that isn't an answer, right?"

Cas's finger stroked the rim of his coffee mug absently. "He doesn't expect you. Who would think you'd try after failing to kill him the first time you came back in time? He doesn't realize how motivated you are—what you've seen and who you've become because of it. And it could be as easy as a shot in the dark he never sees coming. Or this might not even be the right house."

"But all things being equal—it could happen, right? I'm not just kidding myself, am I?"

"You're asking an angel who went after the archangel Raphael with nothing more than holy oil. I believe that anything is possible. And I believe that if anyone can do it, it's you. You've a way of defying fate. Free will, Dean. I believe in free will. I believe in you," Cas said.

Dean looked at Cas, smiling slightly. "You had me worried, there. I thought you were a better liar by now. But you pulled it off in the end."

"We'll pull it off, too," Cas said.

"I believe you," said Dean softly. And for a couple of moments, he did.

They crept into the nursery when all the lights in the house had been out for an hour. Or rather, Dean crept and Cas flew. He could have taken Dean, too, but Dean still found it disorientating and wanted to be at his best. They hid just out of sight behind a large white baby bed that reminded Dean of Sammy's. The one that had been, and never would be.

Dean's nerves dissolved in the face of that thought and turned into hard, fire-hot anger. Azazel would die tonight.

Azazel, and no one else.

When the man walked into the nursery, it was the fact that he was wearing an overcoat that first clued him in that it was Azazel, not the child's father. But he looked at Castiel to be sure, and he nodded.

Dean raised the gun, and fired.

And the gun misfired.

Dean felt his heart jump to his throat, trying not to react to the misfire—trying not to let it mess with his head. He felt his hands shake and took a steadying breath, knowing this was his last shot.

He cocked the gun again.

"What is going on in here?" Azazel asked. "Are babies arming themselves now?"

Dean took aim, ignoring Azazel's words. He hoped the celestial light that Cas was shining at Azazel would counteract whatever powers the demon was throwing at him. Finally Azazel saw him.

"Shoot him now, Dean," Cas said.

"My pleasure," Dean said.

This time the gun fired perfectly, and Azazel crumpled with a look of confusion on his face.

There was a woman's scream from the other room—the baby started crying—and the kid's father came into the room with a gun. For a minute Dean was convinced he'd stopped Azazel and the apocalypse only to be shot by the father of the girl he'd saved—but Cas grabbed him and they flew to the motel room.

There was that moment of disorientation from the flight, and then from having shot the thing that had dogged his childhood and life all over again, and then Castiel was crushed to him and he knew it was really over.

"Thank you for letting me come with you. I think they might have shot you if I hadn't taken you out of there," Cas said.

"Yeah, yeah, you're always right, baby, I got it," Dean said.

"I think calling me baby is kind of ridiculous, as well as inaccurate. If anyone's the baby here, it's you," Cas said.

Dean ignored Cas's words and hugged him tighter, burying his nose in Cas's neck and inhaling the scent of him. They'd made it. They'd lived.

"What do you want to do now?" Cas asked.

"Whatever we want. We can hunt…or live in the suburbs…we could do anything," Dean said.

"We?" Cas asked.

"Yeah. It's going to be we. If it's up to me, it's going to be we for a long time. For as long as you can stand me," he said.

"I can't imagine getting sick of you, Dean," Cas said.

"Well, you probably won't have to imagine it before too long," Dean said, laughing.

"I don't think so, Dean," Cas said, his voice as serious as ever.


End file.
